


canopies

by rojohbi



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, Final Thoughts, Gen, Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rojohbi/pseuds/rojohbi
Summary: Good and Evil are separated by a thin, blurry line.





	canopies

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in my phone notes years ago (2013 i think?) and it's just been chilling there since, so ill just post this instead of updating my multichaps ;)

Men are funny creatures; all pride and fairness, honor and curiosity.

Some are not honorable, no, some are truly Not Good. But aren’t there always the Not Good? No matter your race, age, anything, there is Evil and it can rarely be escaped completely.

But there are truly honorable men who do wrong and truly terrible men who do good, and it is, at times, hard to tell the difference.

Good and Evil are separated by a thin, blurry line.

You would rather like to think yourself a Good man who has tried his hardest not to stray from that line. Events come to pass have put cracks in the glass frame that holds your image, your Good-Bad-Evil, the frame you thought for so long was unbreakable stone, obsidian unable to be shattered.

And when you are first struck by a blow to kill, the surge of adrenaline that pumps into your veins is the only thing keeping that heart of yours going, thundering in a way that simply cannot be healthy but god, does healthy matter when you’re technically already dead?

And then it was a second blow, this one not as lethal but just as painful and you don’t quite understand how you keep swinging this slab of crafted metal, knocking down such beasts with a faux-heartbeat, but you do and those little Hobbits still stand terrified and you are just as scared, though you simply don’t have the time to think about that at the moment.

And then it is a third blow and you’re not sure how much more you can do this.

Would anyone be?

The logical answer says no, says you are dying (already dead) with bravery and that you have done all that you can.

And yet…

It still feels like you’re letting someone down.

You’d chuckle at the absurdity if you could conjure up enough breath to do so (you can’t).

And when you are staring down an arrow shaft, steeling yourself for a just-brave-enough death, a death no one will remember, you are suddenly no longer looking down it. And you’re a little lost, then, actually, because the sheer lack of blood is sort of making the advancements in your surroundings a bit hard to follow in an orderly (not to mention timely) fashion.

And by the time you catch up to everything around you, Aragorn is kneeling over you and you’re only catching most of what he says anymore, gushing out all the Bad because you want to die a Good man, seeing as dying sort of negates your chances of redeeming yourself.

“Our people.”

It’s one of the few lines you don’t have too much trouble picking up and it strikes you harder than the three arrows embedded in your torso. (The thought could’ve passed as dry humour, but your mouth is a little too, well, dry, to handle any laughter at such satire. Besides, your King is above you and like hell you aren’t going to amend something - anything - in your last moments).

It starts to hurt a bit less, but you’re thinking that might be due to the fact that you’re not really feeling a whole lot at the moment, limbs stiff beneath already somewhat restrictive armor, lungs and heart struggling with their basic tasks, begging for a rest. A deep breath, and your thoughts are quick enough, but your lips can only do so much, voice only say so much, as you’re running out of time and air and things to say that actually matter.

You’re pretty sure he’s forgiven you, at this point, as Good-Bad as you’ve been.

Your brother.

Your captain.

Your king.

You think you might be able to conjure up something akin to a smile.

Your body is so numb that you’re not even sure if it’s working.

You feel so weightless despite all the armor, the man above you.

The light of the canopy far above you is shifting lazily, and when it all begins to fade you can feel the warmth of the sun.


End file.
